


Her indomitable spirit

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, F/M, Halloween, How will it end, Malfoy Manor, Mystery, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Hermione keeps having unnerving dreams - or are they recollections? - of the war, and waking in the same place.When will she solve the puzzle and finally be able to escape?





	Her indomitable spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, lovelies! Enjoy this spooky one-shot I put together for the spooky season.
> 
> Beta love to CourtingInsanity - any remaining errors are my own.

_ Screaming. Explosions. Fire. Spells shooting in all directions. Death Eaters and Order members alike falling, students fleeing to the far corners of the castle as the battle rages around them. A flash of blond hair beside her, fighting alongside. She doesn’t know where the others are, can barely see through the smoke. He cries out, “Granger! Look out!” He tries to shove her aside but there is a brilliant flash of light, pain, and then… darkness. _

Hermione woke up with a start, breathing heavily, heart hammering inside her chest. It seemed like the battle of Hogwarts happened only yesterday, and at the same time, a thousand years ago.

She was lying in long grass, bathed by the sun. Sitting up, she noticed she was in a meadow of sorts, surrounded by wildflowers that bobbed their heads gently towards her in the light breeze. In the hazy distance was the outline of a tall, imposing building she faintly recognised.

Getting up and brushing off her clothing, Hermione began to wander towards the structure, eventually exiting the meadow and passing through a copse of trees, finding herself on an overgrown lawn.

As she drew closer, she noticed other people moving in small groups in the same direction. They were chattering excitedly and pointing at the building as they approached. _ It must be a tourist attraction, _Hermione thought to herself.

She joined the people as they advanced, stepping onto a stony, weed-covered drive to follow them, examining their faces as she walked alongside them. No one seemed to notice the lone woman who had joined their numbers, which struck Hermione as slightly odd. She had expected to be recognised, for people to exclaim, point, and jostle. Shrugging, she continued on, grateful in a way that she had gone unseen. It gave her more time to think. 

Looking up as she stepped into the building’s shadow, Hermione gasped in shock and bought her hands to her mouth. She was walking towards Malfoy Manor, the place where she, Harry and Ron had been taken after being caught by Greyback’s team of snatchers. Where she had been tortured by that mad bitch, Bellatrix, on the drawing room floor. 

Hermione shivered and stopped in her tracks, pulling back her sleeve to reveal the silvery scar that remained etched on her skin, covering almost her entire forearm. _ Mudblood. _The stragglers behind seemed not to be bothered by her sudden halt, simply moving around her. She didn’t notice their slight shivers as they passed her by, although the gestures could easily be dismissed as the result of entering the Manor’s gloom, as well as its unsavoury reputation.

Her stomach in knots, Hermione turned and rushed back up the drive towards the hedges that bordered the property, intent on leaving. Why was she even here? What would possess her to come to this place which held nothing but terrible memories? She, Harry and Ron had been lucky to escape with their lives—would not have escaped at all, she was sure, if not for Dobby’s intervention.

_ Dobby. _She stifled a sob at the thought of the small elf who had taken Bellatrix’s dagger to his chest as he whisked them away to Shell Cottage—a fatal blow. She vowed to visit his grave in the sand dunes above the retreat again just as soon as she was able.

Now, though, she needed to get as far away from the Manor as possible. She would go to… where? Hermione frowned. She supposed she could go to the Burrow, see the Weasleys. In fact, she really _ should _ go to the Burrow as soon as possible and see how everyone was doing. No doubt Harry would be there, too. 

She stepped past the elaborate gates and made her way down the lane, each step taking her further from the Manor. But what was this feeling? She frowned again. It was like a pull, a _ tug— _as if something was compelling her to turn around and go back the way she had come. Hermione couldn’t understand why—what on earth would make her want to return to that awful place?

Shaking her head, she continued on her path, headed towards the Burrow.

* * *

_ Smoke, screams, bangs. Falling masonry, a red-haired figure disappearing underneath it. No! She cries. But the name of the person is lost to her, drowned out by the sounds of battle. Who is it? Bill? Percy? Ron? Her heart hammers in fear. She is pulled back by someone behind her, turns and lifts her wand in defense. Looks into silvery eyes. “Run, Hermione! We can’t help him now!” a voice shouts. With a stifled sob, she does as she is told, whirling away. _

When she woke, she was in a meadow. It seemed familiar, as if she had just been here recently. Wildflowers turned their faces to the sun. She should have felt warm, but instead she was… not cold, exactly, but... tingly. _ Perhaps I’m coming down with something _, she thought.

Standing, Hermione made her way toward a copse of trees that also looked familiar. A house in the distance gave her a strange feeling. It made her apprehensive, but at the same time had an air of normality about it. She pushed her way through the copse and found herself on an unmaintained but expansive lawn and headed towards the side of the house. 

As she got closer, she realised she was looking at Malfoy Manor, and stopped in surprise. _ Why in Merlin’s name am I here? _ she wondered. Still, Hermione felt compelled to enter. Approaching a stone verandah, she ascended the few steps and reached out to open the door. 

_ How strange, _ she thought. _ It won’t open. _ Looking to her right, she noticed another door which was ajar, and stepped through it without another thought. Taking her wand in hand, Hermione slowly walked through what appeared to have been a ballroom. 

It must have been grand once, but now held an air of neglect. The heavy green curtains hung limply, torn in places. Dust covered every surface and broken glass glittered on the marble tile beneath her feet. Some of the tiles had cracks and gouges in them, ruining the smooth pattern they had once made. _ What happened? _ she wondered. _ I don’t recall the Malfoys being sentenced to Azkaban yet, and besides, how could such neglect occur so quickly? The battle is barely over. _

Suddenly, Hermione heard voices. Her head snapped in that direction and she advanced on the sound, wand held at the ready. She stepped through the open double doors leading to a foyer and stopped, frowning at the sight before her.

To her astonishment, groups of people were wandering about, going in and out of doors, up and down the staircase to her left, touching things, and chattering excitedly. Some held objects in their hands - glasses, picture frames, vases and other small furnishings. Others were posing for photographs in front of the large fireplace she could see across the room.

“_What _ is going on here?” she demanded loudly, hands on hips. “This is somebody’s _ home! _ Even if they aren’t here, this is _ wrong _!”

However, nobody took any notice. It incensed her. Perhaps she had never liked the Malfoys—rather _ loathed _them, in fact, especially that ferret-faced Draco—but still, this had been their sanctuary, and these people were invading it like it were a day’s cheap entertainment.

Hermione stormed across the room to the group taking a photo in front of the fireplace. “This isn’t some sideshow attraction!” she chastised them. “Anyone would think you had never seen a fireplace before!”

The group looked discomfited and embarrassed at her lecturing, and after a few mutterings they dispersed and hurried toward the far entrance, looking at her over their shoulders with unease. 

She watched them go, her face scrunched up in distaste, then approached the next group, who were standing in a small huddle and comparing the small items they held. “Those aren’t yours! Put them back, you vile people!” she barked.

The group exchanged worried glances. “Perhaps we should go,” one man suggested.

“Good idea,” said another.

“Yes, leave. _ Without _ the Malfoys’ possessions, if you please,” Hermione said firmly. 

“Perhaps we should just.. Leave these things here,” a third member of the group suggested. “They could be cursed with Dark magic, or something.”

The others murmured their assent and piled the items on a nearby table, before scurrying out the same set of doors the previous group had exited from. Hermione nodded in satisfaction and made her way back to the disused ballroom.

* * *

_ The wooden bridge is collapsing. Plumes of fire and smoke spew out in all directions. Bits of brick and wood are flung out like small missiles, punching through bodies like butter. Death Eaters tumble into the deep ravine like tiny pebbles, screaming. She fires spells and throws up shields, with a tall, blond man fighting beside her. He has silver eyes. He shouts, “Keep fighting, Hermione!” _

She woke up in a meadow that she knew, but she wasn’t sure _ how _ she knew it. The sky above her was grey and foreboding, heavy with dark clouds that signaled rain. The wilting wildflowers around her drooped in resignation, as if they sensed the beating the rain would unleash on them and knew they were powerless to stop it.

In the distance, its highest points shrouded in mist, stood a large gothic building that looked rather like a mansion. It called to her, and Hermione stood, making her way towards it.

Pushing her way through a copse of trees, Hermione found herself standing on an unkempt lawn that must have once been perfectly manicured, but was now covered in weeds with grass brushing her ankles. 

She moved towards the house, then detoured around it as she noticed the remnants of what had previously been a splendid garden.

Overgrown rose bushes jostled for space with yet more weeds, sagging rhododendron bushes with their flowers dropping sadly onto the dirt below peppered the pathway, and trees desperately in need of pruning shed leaves and small branches onto the overgrown lawns they sprung from. A gazebo that had once been white was now flaking paint, and something—likely a lightning strike—had splintered and blackened the topmost arches, leaving bits of wood scattered across the floor of the damaged structure.

A feeling of sadness washed over Hermione as she surveyed the damage and neglect. Turning once more to the house, she realised she was looking at Malfoy Manor. She should have felt apprehensive—she wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten here, or _ why _ she was here, for that matter—but instead, she felt like she _ belonged. _

But of course, that was absurd. She hated the Malfoys and she hated their grand home, where she had been tortured by Bellatrix and had had the word _ Mudblood _ carved in the delicate skin of her arm. Why would she belong _ here? _

While she had been wondering, Hermione was startled to realise her feet had been leading her around to the foremost part of the house and through the open front door. As she stepped over the threshold, thunder boomed directly overhead and the dim room was momentarily lit by a flash of lightning. Moments later, the rain that had threatened earlier began to hiss in heavy torrents from the sky. She was surprised to find that she didn’t feel cold, despite the inclement weather. 

Shrugging, Hermione moved further into the foyer, looking about curiously. It was clearly abandoned, and held a neglected, unloved feel. There was dust everywhere, overturned and broken furniture littered the space, and a chandelier— not unlike the one Dobby had dropped on Bellatrix when he had appeared to rescue her, Ron and Harry— was smashed on the floor. Another bolt of lightning lit up the room, causing prisms of light to dance for a second on the walls as they struck the faintly glittering hangings scattered across the marble. 

She moved towards the stairs at the other side of the foyer, feeling that there was something there she needed to find. Something—or was it some_ one— _ seemed to be calling to her. She took a step, and then another. It felt almost like… like she was coming _ home. _She felt a presence ahead, another clue that she needed to find. If she could just seek it out, perhaps she could find an explanation to help her understand what she was doing here and why she felt this way.

“Hello?” she called. “Harry? Ron? Are you there?” she reached the top of the stairs and carried on down the dark hallway, trailing her fingers on the wall and straining to see ahead of her. 

There was a figure ahead and Hermione hurried towards it.

* * *

_  
Explosions. Screams. The acrid smell of burning. Bodies and blood everywhere. There are cloaked figures all around her, closing in, she’s surrounded. Her wand swishes wildly, curses and spells flying from her mouth as she attempts to drive them back, but they keep coming. She feels someone at her back. He takes her free hand, entwines his fingers in hers. He’s fighting, too. They are going to be overwhelmed, she just knows it. “Look out, Granger!” the person at her back cries. She catches a glimpse of blond hair as he moves around her, tries to push her out of the way, but there is a flash of light and he is blasted away from her. It’s Malfoy. His eyes are wide open in shock. She reaches for him as everything around her fades to black. _

When she woke, it was dark. Snow fell into her upturned face. She sat up, discovering she was lying in several centimetres of powder, and was bewildered to realise she wasn’t shivering with cold. _ How can that be? _ she wondered, frowning. She pulled her sleeve back to examine her arm and was discomfited to notice her skin did not erupt into goosebumps. In fact, despite having been lying in the snow for Godric knows how long, her clothes don’t even seem to be damp, although they should by rights be saturated. 

Hermione looked around her. She couldn’t tell where she was. Everything was white, and combined with the darkness, it was quite disorienting. Ahead, through the gently falling flakes, Hermione spied a small row of humps which could have been bushes or small trees. She decided to head that way, and got to her feet. She was further amazed to find it was easy to walk through the powder despite wearing only sneakers.

Arriving at the humps, she discovered they were a copse of trees, and beyond them, a vague shadow that appeared to be a large house. _ Home, _she thought with relief, and pushed her way through the snow-covered trees. Despite the disturbance, no snow fell from the branches. 

Hermione now found herself on the edge of a large property, with the building ahead of her. It was dark and cold, with no lights in the windows, and was clearly unoccupied. She could see broken shingles on the rooftops, and a corner of one of the chimneys had crumbled away. Still, she headed eagerly towards the house. 

When she arrived, Hermione wandered around to the front door. It was standing ajar and snow had blown into the foyer, powder covering the marble floor. The tattered curtains fluttered against the windows, some of which were broken. Ahead of her was a winding staircase. Something inside her urged her forward.

As her foot landed on the first rise, she thought she heard a whisper from above. _ Hermione, _it called to her. 

“Who are you?” she called. “What do you want?” 

_ You need to find me, Hermione, _the whisper urged.

She reached the top of the stairs, feeling she had been here before. She trailed her fingertips over the tattered wallpaper as she made her way down the hallway in front of her, relishing the familiar feel. Ahead stood a shadowy figure, but she knew it was not a foe. She smiled. She wasn’t yet sure who it was, but the form was familiar. Hermione hurried on.

* * *

  
Draco watched anxiously as Hermione hastened toward him. Finally, after all this time, she had found her way back. He had been worried she wouldn’t make it, and would keep wandering the grounds and downstairs forever. Despite them having been together initially, she had ended up in the meadow while he had remained in the house.

But at last, she seemed to have broken a barrier. Maybe it was because of the occasion— he certainly felt the power flowing through him.

“Hermione,” he called, reaching out for her as she approached. She smiled at him, and it warmed him inside. 

_ “Draco!” _she called happily, placing her small hand in his.

“I knew you would make it eventually.” he smiled. “You’re late!”

“Late for what?” she frowned at him. “I feel I should be here, but I can’t recall why. What day is it? Why is it snowing?”

“It’s Halloween, love,” Draco explained.

“Snow? And on Halloween?” Hermione frowned. “But how could that be? The battle was only a few days ago, wasn’t it—?” 

She stopped, shaking her head and dropping his hand. “Why are you calling me ‘love’? And where are Harry and Ron? I don’t understand—Draco, what’s going on?” she cried, becoming more distraught.

“You still don’t remember?” Draco asked her softly, cupping her face.

“No,” she whimpered, tears springing to her eyes.

“Take my hands,” he urged. “I’ll show you.”

* * *

Hermione was afraid. A part of her wanted to run, to avoid seeing what Draco wanted to show her. She knew the visions would reveal a truth she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. Still, it had never been in her nature to flee. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands in his, and gasped as Draco’s memories flowed into her mind.

_ She and Draco stood in one of the castle’s many towers, holding each other in a tight embrace. Time was running short. Voldemort and his army were gathering outside the castle’s wards as both sides prepared for battle. _

_ “I swear, Hermione, I’ll fight beside you,” Draco vowed. “I’ll never stand with the Dark.” _

_ “You could be killed,” she whimpered, tears in her eyes. “He’ll never forgive your betrayal.” _

_ “Hopefully, he won’t realise until it’s too late.” Draco comforted her, a hand cupping her cheek. “Thanks to Severus, my Occlumency has been strong enough that he hasn’t discovered my defection. I know that we can win.” _

_ “I hope we can win,” Hermione replied. “It all hinges on killing the snake.” _

_ “Potter will defeat him, I know it.” Draco smiled. “And I’ll be with you until the end.” _

_ He tilted his face to hers, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “I love you, Hermione.” _

_ “And I love you,” she whispered in return. _

Another vision hit. The battle had begun.

_ A mighty explosion shook the ground. Seamus’s booby trap had been triggered. The wooden bridge was collapsing, smoke and fire billowing outwards, taking the first wave of Death Eaters with it. They screamed as they plunged into the ravine below. Pieces of brick and wood shot out in a wide berth, killing many of the second wave of Death Eaters who swarmed on the edges of the far bank. Voldemort’s scream of rage could be heard as a portion of his army were vanquished. _

_ Elsewhere on the castle grounds, the battle raged on. Spellfire shot back and forth as the Light and the Dark duelled. Bodies fell. Students were still being evacuated. A contingent of fighters was escorting them to the far edges of the grounds so that they might flee, and trying to keep the Dark army giving chase at bay. Those old enough to apparate were taking as many younger students side-along as they could, returning again and again. _

_ She was fighting alongside Draco, Fred and Percy. Ron was fighting elsewhere and Harry had disappeared long ago, determined to face Voldemort alone. A part of her was terrified for him even as she fought. Spellfire hit one of the walls and it crumbled before them. They all attempted to dodge but Fred was buried beneath the falling masonry. Hermione screamed, “Fred! No!” and rushed to his side. She and Percy valiantly attempted to revive him, but his eyes were open and staring, the life snuffed out. _

_ “I’ll stay with him,” Percy cried, tears streaming down his face. “The two of you need to go, NOW!” _

_ “No, I won’t leave him!” Hermione sobbed. _

_ “Run, Hermione! We can’t help him now!” Draco shouted in her ear over the sounds of battle raging around them. “We need to go!” _

_ She kissed Fred lovingly on the cheek and allowed Draco to pull her up. They ran down the hallway, not looking back. _

Another vision.

_ They were surrounded by laughing Death Eaters—a teeming circle of them. Draco and Hermione fought bravely, back to back, their free hands clasped together. “Keep fighting, love!” he urged her. Spells and curses issued from their lips and shields burst forth, only to be smashed and regenerated again and again. _

_ “You’re finished, Mudblood! You too, blood traitor!” a masked Death Eater cried gleefully. _

_ A flash of light issued in the corner of Hermione’s vision. “Granger, look out!” Draco cried. He whirled her around, trying to push her out of the way, but a second flash of light struck them both. They were blasted forcefully apart. She watched in disbelief as Draco flew away from her, his eyes wide with shock. Hermione reached out to him as pain enveloped her and everything faded to black. _

_ She faintly registered screaming. Pain was all she knew. She staggered to her feet. Where was she? She didn’t know. Panic set in. She had to get out of here, find the others. She tried to apparate. She landed somewhere and stumbled, then fell. She was lying in some grass. It was blessedly cool. She was so tired. She would rest for just a moment, then get up. Just a moment… _

Hermione gasped as she came back to reality and stared into Draco’s silvery eyes. Tears rolled slowly down her face.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes, love,” he replied sadly.

“And you, too?” He nodded.

She rubbed at her cheeks, sighing in resignation. “But how did we end up here?”

“Mother found us both,” Draco explained. “We were hit with that spellfire just before Potter defeated Voldemort—” 

“He did it!” gasped Hermione happily. “How?”

Draco chuckled. “He faced Voldemort alone in the forbidden forest. Voldemort killed Potter—at least, he thought he had. Mother lied to him, said he was dead but he wasn’t—”

“Of course!” Hermione exclaimed. “He was the last Horcrux!”

Draco nodded. “Hagrid brought Potter back to the castle, pretending to be dead. Then Potter jumped up at the last minute and they duelled. Longbottom killed Nagini, and Potter bested Voldemort. The Light won.” He smiled.

Hermione smiled back. “We won,” she whispered.

Suddenly she remembered Draco had been explaining how they had come to be at the Manor. “I’m sorry, Draco—I got distracted. You were telling me how we got here.”

“Oh, yes. Mother found us, just after Voldemort was defeated. The Death Eaters we had been fighting had scattered, and she reached us unmolested. She Apparated us both to the Manor, hoping to save us.”

“But it didn’t work,” Hermione guessed. “We both died.”

Nodding, Draco cupped her face once more. “I’m afraid so.”

“I woke up and attempted to apparate,” she continued, frowning at the vision Draco had shown her. “I ended up in long grass—the meadow?—and that’s where I died.”

“Yes. I was afraid you were going to be stuck there forever. You would get so close and then fade away again.”

“I remember people in the house," Hermione said. “Wandering about, _ taking _ things, treating your home like some sort of freak show.” She glowered at the memory. She remembered _ everything _ now—all the attempts to get back to the house, the people, the ruins of the once stately home she stood in.

“All true,” Draco sighed. “Since Mother died, the Manor has had no one to care for it and it became a source of amusement for the Light. Hardly anyone knew Mother and I were on your side.”

“Wait—your mother passed away?” Hermione checked, sadness crossing her features. She had liked Narcissa.

“Died of a broken heart, as cliche as that sounds,” came a soft voice. 

Hermione turned to see Narcissa float towards her, ethereal and yet still beautiful.

“Lucius was killed in battle, and after I lost Draco and you despite my efforts to save you both, I hadn’t the will to carry on,” Narcissa explained. “My magic faded and I wasted away here, alone. Draco and I were reunited and have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

“Now you’re here, we can be together always.” Draco smiled. “The three of us.”

Hermione smiled back at the two Malfoys before her. Draco extended a hand towards her, as did Narcissa. She placed her two hands in each of theirs.

“Come,” Narcissa urged. “You’re home.”

Together, the three ghosts floated down the disused hallway and further into the Manor, their diaphanous figures fading gently into nothingness.


End file.
